Looking Forward
by Etimire T
Summary: In modern-day New York, Merlin visits Henry Morgan, one of the few unfortunate souls, outside of himself, who is cursed with immortality. He hopes to provide some much-needed explanations. Forever/Merlin crossover
**Looking Forward**

A One-Shot by Etimire T.

It was a typical, noisy, busy, bustling day in New York city. Pigeons buried their beaks in clock towers and old women, hoods up, eyes tired, scattered breadcrumbs on the sidewalks. Above, the sky heralded thick tears, and on the ground, taxis raced through yesterday's puddles, splattering unfortunate passers-by. People's murmurings could be heard and seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere at all. Their voices were always there, rumbling in the background, mixed with the honking horns, slamming doors and the roar of traffic.

Amid a city that never sleeps, dark-haired gentleman, young in appearance, breathed in the air, tasted its quality and wrinkled his nose, wishing he could spit it back out. The car fumes irritated his lungs, making them ache. He wasn't made for this century, not really.

It was a good thing he considered himself an adaptable person. He had to be.

He flinched at each passing car. He still missed the personal touch horseback riding brought. Although, he would admit, the lack of horse dung did greatly improve the smell.

Taking in a chunk of air with his large yawn, the man flipped up the collar of his dark trench coat, ran a hand through his hair and straightened a blue scarf around his neck. Jangling loose coins in his pockets, he crossed the street in a few well placed steps, skipping over the leaf-clogged gutter. He cocked his head at an item in the display window of an quaint looking store. ' _Abraham's Antique Shop'_ was printed in swirling gold letters on the window. Smiling ruefully, the man pulled open the door and a soft bell sounded. His steps made little sound as he pulled inside, breathing in the musty smell of age. He really did like that scent.

Amid the organized chaos, an elderly Jewish man sat hunched at a desk, engrossed in the daily obituaries.

"Shut the door, Henry," he spoke, not looking up, "You might not catch deadly colds, but I can." He took a sip of his coffee and set it back down carefully. Without particularly meaning to, the man looked up and met the visitor's eyes. Realizing he had mistaken the visitor's identity, the older man stood up, startled. "I- oh. Sorry about that, I thought you were-"

"-Someone else?"

The Arthurian legend smirked, light glittering in his cerulean eyes. "Sorry to disappoint."

* * *

"Can I help you with something?" Abraham asked. He looked the young man up and down. He didn't look older than twenty-three, (lucky dog) and his face was almost cartoonish, with prominent cheekbones that tapered down into a small, stubborn chin. Mischief shined through his smile and Abraham figured the kid got himself into all sorts of trouble.

"Yes, actually," the boy answered, flashing him a smile once more. Abraham noted his distinctive British accent vaguely. But there was something odd about that smile. It was horribly familiar and rather sad. Frowning, Abraham pushed the thought away. He couldn't place it. He blinked, momentarily forgetting he had asked the kid a question.

The young man continued, not appearing to notice, "I'm looking for a _Henry Morgan_. The fellow lives here, I assume?" He glanced behind Abraham, frowned slightly, and then met his eyes once more. "Since you _did_ call me Henry."

For a moment Abraham just stood there.

The kid cocked his head, blue eyes shining with acute amusement. "Is… something wrong?"

Blinking, Abraham shook himself into action. " No, no," he answered, "I just, didn't realize Henry knew anyone… your age."

Slowly, the kid nodded. "I don't actually know him personally… I'm a history major, and I recently located a letter written by a woman. Nora, her name was."

Abraham hoped the kid didn't notice the color drain from his face. Nora was Henry's first wife, the woman who sent him to an asylum over two hundred years ago. What could _she_ have written about?

"Her handwriting was sporadic and well, insane, to be honest. She seemed to be a very disturbed woman… Or, maybe guilty is a better word…" The boy paused, a sad frown curving his lips. Shaking off the emotion, he continued. "Apparently when she was younger, she thought that her husband Henry Morgan was crazy and had him sent off to an asylum, where he, unfortunately, died."

Abraham's stomach flipped, but the boy continued to tell his story with little concern. "However, Henry seemed to reappear working in a hospital over fifty years later, alive and well. And this is the best part." The boy grinned. "She writes that he didn't look a year older!"

Abraham gulped. "How's that?" he croaked.

Now the boy shrugged, letting out a breath of pent of air. "Well, it's rather obvious, really. This Mr. Morgan escaped and lived his life. He had a son with someone else, who grew up to be the doctor Mrs. Nora Morgan mistaken to be her husband. Anyway, the name 'Henry' seems to have passed down through generations because… according to the genealogy at the library, his descendant, Henry Morgan lives here."

Relief flooded through Abraham. The boy had offered up his own explanation. And a good one, at that. Briefly, Abraham wondered how Henry could possibly be registered in the library, but he dismissed the thought. He needed Henry to come home. Now.

"So," Abraham said slowly, "Why do you want to know?"

The boy opened his mouth to respond. "I'm writing a… paper for school."

That made sense. He _had_ said he was a history major.

Once again, the boy's eyes wandered from Abraham and rested on something just over the older man's shoulder. The boy frowned.

Turning, Abraham's eyes rested on a sword hanging on the wall behind him. "Something wrong?" he asked.

Wrinkling his nose, the boy nodded. "Sorry. The sword is… irritating me."

"What?"

Without replying the kid walked behind Abraham's desk, took it off the wall and held it out to Abraham. "With all due respect, sir, trust me, don't hang up a sword like that. You'll lose business. Anyone who knows any medieval history can see that this is a fake."

Now irritated, Abraham, took the sword quickly from the boy. "Oh," he answered sarcastically, "And you consider yourself an expert?"

"Of sorts." The boy smirked and pointed at the sword. "See the gold lining on the hilt here?"

Abraham twisted the sword and nodded. "What about it?"

"It's paint, not real gold. Gold dye was hard to come by and for the paint to still be sticking a sword, which was used in _combat_ , after eight hundred plus years, well, artificial chemicals would need to be used. There weren't chemicals capable of making such a resilient paint that long ago."

Abraham blinked and studied the sword himself. "You're… right. Huh." Surprised, Abraham set the sword down on his desk for the moment and studied the boy. "Have you been trained?"

For some reason, the boy seemed to find this amusing. "A family friend owned an antique shop when I was a kid. The owner specialized in medieval pieces and taught me everything he knew."

"Really?"

The kid was good, there was no denying that. Abraham hadn't noticed the fallacy when he bought the piece and because it was before Henry's time, there was no way the man could verify its value. Suddenly Abraham groaned. "Doggonit, I paid good money for that!"

The boy chuckled and sat down in a chair across from Abraham. "I imagine. In your defence, it is a very good fake."

Snorting, Abraham sat down in another chair. "What's your name, kid?"

"Colin," he answered immediately.

"You any good with ancient chalices?"

"I could identify a real one, if that's what you mean. But I'm afraid, I'm absolutely horrid in combat."  
Chuckling, Abraham stood and placed at hand on the boy's shoulder. His earlier unease had settled. The boy knew Henry's history, but he wasn't threatening and he didn't seem to have any idea about Henry's immortality. What harm was there in having him help identify some stuff in the shop while they waited for Henry to return from work?

* * *

Henry felt something the moment he walked into the shop. It was like a gust of warm wind, a tingle mixed with a sense of deja vu. Pausing, he let his hand fall away from the key lodged in the back door of the antique shop. What was that?

Shrugging, Henry yawned and stepped inside. It had been a long day at the morgue, no interesting cases to run with Joe, only gabbering Lucus, three stabbings, an old man, and a peanut allergy victim.

Typical.

Sighing, Henry shut the door and shrugged off his coat. "Abraham?" he called, "I'm back!"

"Jus' a sec!" There were some scuffle from the shop and then Abraham came shuffling into the hall. He glanced over his shoulder and gave Henry a small smile. "You wouldn't believe what I've found, Hen. He's as good as you!"

Henry blinked. "Ah, what? Who?"

Abraham smiled excitedly. "He's a college student who wants to meet you. Scared the living daylights when he mentioned finding a letter written by Nora-"

"What!" Henry hissed, eyes wide.

Quickly, Abraham backtracked. "No, no. It's fine. He thinks you're the ancestor. But _anyway_ , he's an absolute genius with antiques. He knows medieval antiques like you know the nineteenth century."

Henry frowned. "That's doubtful, Abraham. I lived there, after all."

"The kid knows his stuff, Henry. He would be so use-"

"Wait." Henry held up a hand, cocking his head curiously. "Are you thinking about hiring him?"

"Not every day you find someone like that. Thought I'd ask you before I asked him."

Slowly, Henry nodded. Taking in an 'outsider' would be relatively safe. Besides, Abraham could use the help when he was gone.

"Excuse me?" said a distinctly British voice. The dialect washed over his ears and Henry smiled at the familiarity. Peering around Abraham, he caught a glimpse of a nervous looking young man. His dark hair was unkempt (modern ridiculousness) but he wore oddly formal clothes, finished with a touch of blue around his neck. The boy smiled at him, and Henry walked closer, sticking out his hand.

"Henry Morgan. I believe you were looking for me?"

The boy took his hand and shook it, but his eyes were wide, shocked. He gulped, realizing he should reply. "S-sorry. I'm Colin."

There was an awkward moment of silence, and then Henry cleared his throat and gestured toward the back of the shop, where they could sit. "So? What is it you'd like to talk about?"

With a cat-like quietness, the boy shut the door behind him, leaving Abraham on the other side. He let out a jagged breath, and his expression changed from idle curiosity to deep anguish.

Then it was gone, and it was just the boy again.

A warning bell went off in Henry's mind, and he sat down slowly, wondering how he could escape if it came to that. Then again, this was just a kid, a skinny one, at that. If needs be, he could overpower him. "Colin?" he asked carefully, cool air settling around his heart. "You're not here for a history class, are you?"

Colin laughed. It was a sad sound. He sat down in a lavender smelling chair stiffly. "No, not quite, You don't remember me, do you?" It was said like a statement, and Colin's blue eyes stared at him with startling intensity. He steepled his fingers and pressed them to his lips, elbows on knees.

"Should I?"

"I'm not sure. You were very young."

That did not make sense. He couldn't possibly know him as a child.

There was silence and then Colin's brow creased. "I am truly sorry, Henry." Suddenly he looked very, very old. "If I had known my condition would pass through me, I would never have gotten entangled."

Henry's mind ticked quickly, suddenly fearful. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Colin rolled his eyes. "Don't be daft. Of course you do."

"I really don't. I think it's time for you to-"

"No." The boy's eyes flashed gold, and suddenly Henry was stuck to his seat.

He began to struggle against the invisible restraint immediately. _This is bad this is bad this is bad._ "How are you-?"

"Magic. I don't want to hurt you. I need you to hear me out. It's important. I owe it to you." The boy bit his lip in concern. "Please."

Henry just stared at him, wide eyed and unbelieving. "Did you just say _magic_?"

Again, the look of age, disconcerting in the eyes of such a young man, filled his gaze. "Yes. Try to keep an open mind, yes? It shouldn't be hard for an immortal to believe in magic."

Oh no, it could be very hard. "I-immortal? That's impossible."

Now the age was replaced by a childlike irritation. "I really don't have time for this. Well, actually, I have all the time in the world, but… you know what I mean. I'm not going to hurt you or expose you or do anything which would harm you or your son in any way."

Henry didn't think his eyes could get any wider. How much did the boy know? "Who _are_ you?"

"My name is Merlin, and I have good reason to believe that you are my descendant."

Henry stopped struggling immediately. He blinked, incredulous. "Excuse me?"

"Let me guess…" Merlin shifted into a mocking imitation of Henry. "Merlin is a mere figment of the imagination, draw up by figments of a broken past." His eyes steeled. "And how could you possibly know that, hmm? Were you there?"

"... No." Henry recalled his conversation with Abraham. The boy was a genius with medieval antiques. And he was holding Henry to his chair without moving a muscle. How was that possible again?

And then he said it. "I was. I was there when Arthur reigned. And I'm still here and I believe it is my blood that caused your peculiarity."

Oh, what was the point in denying it now? Henry snorted. "Peculiarity. That's a nice way to put it."

The bonds holding him to his chair had never been painful, but he was grateful when they faded now. Merlin looked at him carefully, his mouth quipped up in a smirk. "I suppose it is. Does that mean you believe me?"

"Of course not. You are obviously insane."

"I never said I wasn't."

Silence and then, "Where's Abraham?"

"He's currently trying to figure out how his chess pieces are moving by themselves." A bit of humor crept into his voice at this. "I cannot make you believe me, but… perhaps you recall an uncle coming to call on your father when you were a child?" He looked at Henry hopefully.

So Henry thought. He furrowed his brow, the feeling of Deja Vu washing over him again. He… he _did_ recognize the boy. A sudden memory surfaced. On the floor, staring up at a gangly form. " _Hello, Henry."_

Henry sat back slowly, curling his fingers into a fist. "I-I… I don't-"

The boy tisked playfully. "Three I's in one sentence, Henry. Careful, you'll come across as egotistical."

Henry just blinked. "It was you." He was an immortal. The boy was an immortal just like him.

Better yet, he wasn't a terrifying psychopath (as far as he could tell.) Henry's heart did a little skip.

Then he frowned. "Did my father know who you were?"

"Of course not. I tend to check on my descendants every so often. Took me ages to find you, obviously." He looked oddly proud. "You are very good at hiding."

"Thank you?" Then again, the boy was saying that he was _Merlin._ Like, King Arthur and the round table Merlin. He had to be insane. But Henry would humor him. He pursed his lips, marveling that he was having this conversation in his sitting room. "So, are you not supposed to be turned into a tree until Arthur's return?"

Shrugging, the boy sat back. "Yeah, tried that. Got… bored, honestly. Have you ever been a tree?" He shook his head at himself. " _Obviously_ not. The point is, it's all so _slow._ The most interesting thing that happened was this muggle attempting to piss on me."

Henry gave a snorting, coughing laugh. "I can see why that would not be appealing."

Merlin hummed, thoughtful now. "It was nice though… not thinking about, you know, people."

Henry fell quiet in his demeanor. Yes. He knew exactly what the boy meant. Sometimes he wished he could forget…

Again, Merlin's eyes nailed him. Did all immortals have eyes like that? Deep and terrifying and strange? Did _his_ eyes look like that? "You still don't believe me, of course. A man of science."

"Well…"

Merlin smiled sadly, stopping him with a hand. "Watch." He held his hand out and spoke something in an unfamiliar language. His eyes flashed gold once more (fascinating) and gold dust swirled over his hand. It condensed and became a very small, green dragonfly. The creature stayed in Merlin's palm until he blew on it softly. Then it rose in the air and disappeared out a cracked window.

Henry didn't know how to react. For the first time in a long time, he was not sure he could believe his eyes.

"It's a shame belief in magic is so rare…" Merlin murmured softly, staring after the insect. "It can be very beautiful."

"Terrifying as well, I imagine," Henry replied, just as quietly.

"Of course."

Henry gulped, his voice shaky. He didn't know what to say. How to react. How to.. breath? Breath. Yes, he could breathe at least. There was no denying what his eyes had seen. Magic. Of course, magic existed. How else would he still be alive?

"So… you're my ancestor." Henry bend his head and rested his eyes into the base of his palms. "You're an immortal wizard. I _inherited_ immortality? Why not the rest of my family?"

"I don't know." Merlin shifted his weight. "I… wish I knew more, Henry."

Breathing shallowly, Henry shrugged. "You have given me more than I have had for centuries," He stood slowly and Merlin followed suit. "Thank you." Merlin shook his hand, and then, with a wiry smile, pulled him into a hug, shocking Henry into stiffness.

"I need to leave." Merlin said sadly, pulling back.

"Why?" After all of that?

"It's… complicated. I have a duty I must play out. Also, once the Ministry realizes I've escaped _again_ , they'll come barging through your doors. I'm guessing you'd rather avoid the attention."

Henry frowned. "The Ministry?"

"Yeah. Ministry of Magic, irritating fellows." He waved his hand dismissively. "Technically, I'm an employee… but, they keep close watch on their favorite warlock." Merlin's eyes twinkled. "But don't worry. I'll see you again."

"When?"

"Soon. We've got all of our lives to figure out the particulars, right?"

Smiling sadly, Henry nodded.

With a wink, Merlin's face closed in concentration, he turned on the spot…

And was gone.

Silence reigned heavily for longer than Henry could comprehend. His heart raced, his mind buzzed. Possibility… so much possibility.

And better yet, he was not alone in eternity. No longer.

The door burst open, a very irritated Abraham inside. He held a struggling chess piece. "Did you do this? Cause it's a pain in the backside."

Henry just smiled. There was so much to look forward to, it was startling. "You're not going to believe who we just met."

* * *

AN: I wrote more than half of this more than a year ago and finally found it again. Figured I might as well finish and post it. Tell me what you think by leaving a REVIEW :DD


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